


Rest

by HarmoniaChimera



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fertile!Natasha, Fucking Flamethrowers, Heavy Angst, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniaChimera/pseuds/HarmoniaChimera
Summary: Contains an airplane crash, a flamethrower, character death, grotesque injuries, supposedly kinky sex between a billionaire and a Russian spy.





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is really old stuff written after the first Avengers came out and never really treated well. I hope you enjoy the trip down memory lane to the time when there was some comic-relief, BruceTasha wasn't canon, she wasn't an ovary-less monster, and the Stark Tower was still standing. Oh, and Nick Fury. Nick Fury's fury's always delightful.

They may have been victorious, but they lost, paid too steep a price. The round table they were sat at was completely empty and they were all silent, perched stiffly in their seats as the memories, gunshots, and screams of the recent fight were still way too fresh in their minds. There'd been no time to mourn the dead and there'd been even less time to take off the blood-spattered suits and armors. Fury had them in the Helicarrier minutes after it all ended, but now he was pacing from one wall to the other, eye gliding across the screens that adorned the S.H.I.E.L.D. command room. Agent Hill stood in the back, leaning against the sofa, observing the room with the look of utmost disquietude.

“Can someone tell me what the hell actually happened out there?” Fury asked finally, his voice seemingly calm, but with an undercurrent of disbelief and anger. “A routine operation that even two police units would be able to handle. We send ‘the Earth’s mightiest heroes’ since the whole thing’s about one of them, and it would seem it’d be more of a sporting trip for them than an actual challenge, and yet they suffer severe losses?!”

"Well, excuse me for wanting to defend my _home_." Tony Stark jumped to his feet and it seemed like he was going to punch someone or storm out, but instead he went to the window, followed by quiet scrapes of his armor. "Instead of being benched like a child so that a bunch of plastic GI Joes could get killed for God and glory, or whatever propaganda you program into their heads these days."

Nick Fury looked like he was about to boil over. "For fuck's sake, Stark, every and each one of you is worth their weight in gold.  _That's_ why we use GI Joes. They are replaceable."

Natasha leaned over the table and clenched her fists in her hair, as though she was trying to shield herself from all of them. Captain Rogers went pale. Tony turned around to Fury, red-armored fist in his face. "They are the 'why we do this' _,_ " he snarls. " _Replaceable??_ Tell that to their families. To the agents you'd have drafting the KIA letters so that you could just sign them and--!"

"I'd be drafting the letters myself," Fury spits through his teeth, nostrils flaring in barely contained rage. "And they would  _still_ be replaceable."

For the longest while there was only silence when Fury stared down his people. Finally, Captain Rogers, collecting his thoughts, slowly began, "We weren’t prepared for--"

“YOU WEREN’T PREPARED?!” Fury cut in, his rage so obvious it seemed almost palpable. “You’re supposed to be a quick strike force for anomalous situations, and yet a pack of bastards with guns--"

A loud crack cut his rambling short. Everyone looked at Stark, whose fist still remained in the shallow depression in the wall. He threw Fury a grim look. “Don’t forget, Mr. Superspy, we’re not all soldiers for you to lecture,” he said quietly but firmly, even though his voice seemed to be shaking a little bit.

“Of course you’re not soldiers,” Fury replied almost amicably, but his gaze was still stern when he moved it across all the Avengers. “But as long as you’re part of this team, you have to take responsibility when your careless decisions get civilians killed.”

Deathly silence fell over the room as everybody looked at Tony whose face was now a perfect example of the purest, most harrowing anger. He looked like he was a split second away from bashing Fury's head in.

Fury waited a few seconds before adding, “And your companions,” as his eye fell upon Black Widow. For a moment Natasha seemed hypnotized by that look, but then she jumped to her feet and stormed out of the room. Captain Rogers could’ve sworn he heard a mournful gasp escape her lips.

Stark's gaze followed her along with everyone else’s, but then he suddenly grabbed Fury by the lapels of his coat and threw him against the table. There were sudden shouts of 'Don't!' and 'Tony, you better back down.' Doctor Banner got up like he was going to do something but didn't know what. Rogers gave Tony his special captain face of disapproval, and even got a few steps in before Fury, completely unfazed, looked Tony straight in the eye and said, "You started this, Stark. All of this happened because you wouldn't 'be benched'." The only warning was Tony's raised lip. He smashed his fist into Fury's face, pieces of the wall peppering his cheek, and before anybody could react, Stark growled and left after Natasha.

 

 

After she didn’t seem to be able to stop crying for nearly half an hour, Tony just couldn’t leave her alone. She calmed down, yes, but not until they were in his car as he drove her to Stark Tower, the only one of his complexes that hadn’t been utterly destroyed in the latest battle. As soon as they reached their destination, he took her up to his penthouse. She didn’t seem fully aware of what was happening around her and he couldn’t really blame her. He, too, was close to falling apart; all he wanted was to go into drunken stupor or lock himself in the workshop and lose himself in designs so he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened. But he knew Tasha needed him, as pompous as that sounds, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he also needed her.

“If you want, you can take a shower,” he said when she stumbled out of the elevator into the day room, the very same one where just this morning he and Pepper had been making plans about the next batch of generators. Tasha looked at him surprised.

“Why?” she mumbled.

“You’ll relax a bit. I have no idea why, but there’s something soothing about hot water.”

He must’ve convinced her because she nodded and muttered something about listening to him.

“Bathroom’s through there, towels and everything else’s at your disposal.”

She nodded again and disappeared behind the door. Tony looked that way for another while, his gaze troubled.

“Don’t you worry, sir.” The British accent flowed from the speakers in walls. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t drown.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered under his breath, walking over to the liquor cabinet. Ice rattled melodiously as he poured bourbon over it and drank the whole thing in one go. Refilling the glass, he let out a pained sigh and stepped onto the gold-and-gray circle on the floor.

“Alright, Jarvis, time to take the iron off the man,” he said. “Just… carefully.”

He knew that when it came to this, the AI wouldn’t let him down, and the machinery would be set to the smoothest and slowest program Jarvis’s multiterabyte hard drive could possibly conjure. And he wasn’t wrong; he could see right away that the robotic arms were much gentler than usual. Not that it helped a lot. It didn't hurt that bad when the misfigured abdominal plates were being removed, though the sensation of being unprotected and loose was a bit disturbing; but when a good chunk of _him_ came off along with the armor, he had to try really hard not to wail in pain.

“I am terribly sorry, sir. I took the liberty of setting up another batch of ice for some compresses,” Jarvis said without much conviction, but the only reply he received were Tony’s stifled moans as he grabbed his glass of bourbon and moved over to the table, his other hand pressed firmly to his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down in small rivulets. Fucking flamethrowers.

He took a step toward the couch, but it wasn’t the right time yet. He sighed again before taking another sip. The liquor burned his throat, but right after, there was a moment of pleasant numbness. He slowly pulled his hand away from his side, hissing in pain. He couldn’t exactly specify how far the injuries were reaching, not from his perspective, but the burn was quite extensive. Blood flowed freely from torn vessels whose continuation was probably somewhere in that patch of skin which had melted into the armor.

 

_“PEPPER!” he screamed when, more subconsciously than otherwise, his brain registered the flight of the familiar Boeing taking an unnatural curve to its trajectory. He fended off the last attacks and followed the plane at once, but the moment he emerged from behind the trees and saw the crash site, he knew he arrived too late. The only movement around was the slow swaying of smoke pillars. The only heat signature—the dying engine. He landed anyway and searched the wreck, even if only to be sure, even if it were to snuff out that last flicker of hope._

_He found her, at last, in a scorched suit, her leg bent in an atrocious way. He didn’t have any strength left to grieve; he just knelt next to her and brushed a lock of hair away from her battered, molten face. He knew he didn’t have time to linger, he had to get back and fight for what he had left, but somehow, he couldn’t force himself to leave. He noticed too late. He arrived too late. And that would never happen again, he thought and his jaw tightened as the comms sounded with panicked voices._

_He set down on the empty street, strewn with rubble, bent cars, and dead bodies of those who couldn't run fast enough. Tony called out to the man causing all the carnage, but he only turned around to cast Tony an amused glance before directing the little flame at the end of his weapon at the nearest building, a small, old residential townhouse. Tony reached him in a single jump, the warning repulsor blast missing the man's head only by a couple of inches. There was a short struggle as Tony tried to disarm him without hurting him too much, even if he really wanted to. And then the flamethrower went hot in his palms and before Tony knew it, his armor was coming apart and flowing down his stomach, the heat burning his undersuit, skin sizzling as it fused with the metal, the sickening smell filling his nostrils, pain overwhelming his mind. All he could see before he fell into nothing was Pepper's battered, molten face._

 

“Jarvis,” he croaked through a tight throat. “Bandage.”

It wasn’t even half a minute before Dum-E brought him the sterile pack Tony had to open with his teeth because it turned out that somewhere along the way he seemed to have lost partial use of his left hand. Before he finally regained it, he drank the rest of the glass’s contents, spat a series of curses, and dropped the bandage more than once or twice. But he finally managed to begin wrapping it around his own waist.

“How’s Agent Romanoff, Jarvis?” he asked almost casually.

“If my sensors are correct, she’s standing stiffly under the water, sir,” the computer replied. Stark nodded. He created Jarvis, his third life achievement, and that’s why he wasn’t hesitant to trust him, but for some reason he was afraid for his guest. He didn’t bring her all the way over here for her to do something stupid.

 

_The battle was difficult, but they followed old patterns: she thinned out the enemies coming from the front out half-blind, and Barton stood on the lowered ramp and put arrows in the few who managed to get away. Neither of them tired too quickly, and the system has always been highly efficient._

_They could’ve—and they should’ve—expected a day like this. They should’ve known sooner or later one of them would turn around and instead of shooting blindly, actually take aim. And that would make their chances to hit much, much higher, so Natasha wasn’t exactly sure why the shock hit her so hard when out of the corner of her eye she saw his half-limp body sliding down the ramp. She lifted it right away, but it was too late, and she could only watch helplessly as the lover she had barely found fell into the abyss._

Tony was just about to tie the bandage when he suddenly heard a terrible shriek from behind the bathroom door.

“What use are you anyway, Jarvis,” he growled, pushing the last bit of the tape under the rest of the dressing, already on his way over there. He didn’t hesitate, there was no time for that; he just barged in, grabbed a bathrobe from the hook without a second thought, and opened the shower. In the bales of steam he saw Natasha, huddled up in the corner and covered in tears mixing with the hot water. He said a word and the stream stopped. He allowed himself a short moment to take in the wavy lines of her body, he couldn’t help himself, but then he saw the barely noticeable shivers running down her skin and he draped the robe over her shoulders; but she must’ve still had some trouble understanding what was going on, because she hit him so abruptly and in such an unfortunate place that his teeth ground when he stifled a scream. Finally, he did manage to wrap the robe around her and pull her out of the bathroom.

She sat on the very edge of the sofa, still huddled and shivering from the bygone vision, and he couldn’t help himself again, couldn’t stop himself from staring at the smooth, fluent lines on her calves peeking out from between the robe’s halves. Natasha didn’t cry, didn’t even make a sound, she just stayed there like that, and he was absolutely certain that somewhere deep inside she was fighting off the overwhelming pain—because he was still fighting it off, too.

After several long minutes she finally raised her gaze at him and for the first time since her waking nightmare she seemed to notice Tony was standing in front of her shirtless and with a carelessly wrapped, unfolding bandage around his waist; for the first time he saw a glimpse of understanding in her blue eyes.

“Are you alright now?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied as her eyes involuntarily dropped to his torso. “But you’re not.”

He didn’t budge, he didn’t even try to move away when she reached towards him. He only twitched a bit when she touched the wound in its primitive dressing.

“I’ll bandage you up properly, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she undid the better part of the bandage and began wrapping it around him again, every loop reaching lower and lower until she reached his belt. She then put the bandage between her teeth and before he knew it she’d undone his pants.

“Wow,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize that went so… deep.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty extensive and doesn’t look good at all,” she replied. “When did this happen?”

He was silent for a while, focusing on keeping his hands away from her and trying not to look at her from this pretty… ambiguous perspective, and, on top of everything else, paying no attention to her fingers traveling all around his abdomen.

“During the fight,” he only said evasively.

“And you walked around with this through the whole debrief and on the way here?” She looked at him in disbelief.

“Well, the armor kept it in place, so it didn’t hurt that much.”

“Liar,” she growled and he realized with surprise that she seemed angry with him for not seeking help. For a moment he just stared at her, trying to find a reason for that, but the only thing he saw was that while she was taking care of him, her robe slightly opened. He felt a surge of heat and just prayed to the heavens she wouldn’t notice any physical manifestations of it.

Finally, Tasha tied a knot on the bandage and pat his hip with her hand. “That’s it,” she said, looking up at him, and then she she suddenly realized the way he was staring down at her. In Tony Stark’s eyes she saw the exact same glint that awoke in them two years ago when she visited his complex as Natalie Rushman. Except this time she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to resist that gaze.

And then there was a shy yet meaningful cough coming from the wall.

“Your  _ice_  is ready, sir,” Jarvis said politely, but with uncanny insolence; Tony stepped away from her and did his pants up. She could see his teeth grit.

“Then get me a compress,” he spat out at the wall and went to the cabinet. Tasha fixed the robe, taking advantage of the fact that he had his well-built back to her.

Why does this son of a bitch have to be so good-looking?, she thought and immediately scolded herself for it. Tony came back and for a second she was sure he was wondering how to approach the problem of the couch—he finally decided to just plop onto it and after a short grunt he was half-lying next to her legs, pressing the cold compress to his wound.

“Thanks, by the way.” He smiled with gratitude and she had to force herself to ignore the feeling of her insides churning.

“No problem. At least I could be of some use.”

They were silent for a while longer, Jarvis—surprisingly—as well. Natasha watched Tony surreptitiously: how his brow furrowed a bit more every few seconds, how his eyes thoughtlessly stared into the distance, how his head was slightly cocked to the side. Stark, on the other hand, was just staring at the half-filled glass of bourbon which was standing just out of his reach.

Finally, he shifted his gaze to Tasha. “You want a drink?” he asked, just like that, and she looked at him vacantly for a while, wondering what he was even talking about. Then she shrugged as if to say, ‘why not’.

“Then go get yourself one,” he said. “Glasses are there, the liquor’s over there, ice is mine.”

And then something completely unexpected happened: Natasha Romanoff burst out laughing. Tony looked at her in honest shock, but then his lips curled into a smile of his own that was probably supposed to mean, ‘Damn, I’m good’.

“And better yet, bring the bar cart over here, I think we’ll make good use of it,” he added as she rose to her feet. “And while you’re already up, why don’t you fill and hand me that glass, hm?”

She shook her head with lenient irritation, but did as he asked.

“You’re an angel,” he muttered. “If I hadn’t brought you here, I’d have to rely on Dum-E, and who knows how that would end. I could even die.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “That’d be good. Battle like pure hell unleashed, half of the city in ruin, the rest roughed up, and I lose my life killed by my own dumb robot.” He fixed his gaze on the russet-colored liquid glistening in his glass. “Which wouldn’t be all that bad, now that I think about it,” he added on a more serious note and poured another considerable gulp of bourbon down his throat. Tasha looked at him for the longest while before she answered.

“I’m only now realizing Loki seems to have had a point,” she muttered. “I guess I really did love Clint. Is that even possible?”

“For you to love someone? And you’re asking me of all people?” He scoffed. “Tash, do you seriously think just two years ago I even considered ever falling for someone? And Pepper, especially? Sure, Pepper was Pepper, but back then she was actually just a really nice complex decoration.”

“No one has ever called me ‘Tash’ before,” she said quietly as if she didn’t even hear any other word of what he had told her.

“And how do you like it? How does it sound?”

“Right now, a lot better than ‘Nat’.”

“Only Clint called you that?”

“Yeah. It’s funny when you think about it. He was never formal with me, and I guess it’s kinda hard after you save someone’s life.”

“Tell me about it.” Stark let out a grim gasp, as if a stifled sob.

“Pepper saved your life, too?”

“You could say that.” He swallowed hard, jaw tense as he remembered everything she did for him. They quieted down and for the longest while neither of them dared break the silence.

Their thoughts were focused on and around those they’d lost. Tony remembered that utterly sweet ‘Will that be all, Mr. Stark?’ that Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts ended nearly every one of their conversations with, and as time went by, it became more sarcastic, or maybe sentimental. Natasha saw Barton’s face divided by the bowstring as he aimed straight at her neck all those tears ago, his sympathetic gaze and tensed muscles as he slowly, as if fighting with his internal soldier, lowered the bow. Then suddenly and completely unexpectedly, she remembered the moment Phil Coulson called her to ask for help in assembling the Avengers when the Tesseract went missing, and how she said, ‘You know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me’. Did he really have so little trust in her? She wasn’t so sure anymore.

“They’re gone now, Tony,” she said softly, her voice laced with pain she was clearly trying to push back inside. Stark didn’t intervene, didn’t tell her she could cry on his shoulder or say everything was gonna be fine, or give her any other crap. He just stared at his drink, face perfectly blank.

“Yes, Agent Romanoff, they’re gone.” He raised his glass. “To the fallen.”

“To the fallen,” she whispered.

It wasn’t long before they were finally ambushed by the neglected exhaustion the day had wrought upon them. Tony showed her to a room and gave her one of Pepper’s nightdresses so she wouldn’t have to sleep in her grimy, dusty clothes. He lay down himself, ice on his wound, but he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even force himself to close his eyes. He only stayed on the bed, stared blankly at the ceiling, and listened to Tash’s sobs quieting down on the other side of the wall.

Finally, there was silence. He changed his ice again… Then the numbness seemed to spread from the wound to the rest of his body… Thoughts disappeared into nothingness and his eyes began to close…

 

“Damsel in distress, sir.” Jarvis’s voice coming out of the alarm clock right next to his ear jerked him out of his sleepless state. Never minding the pain, he got out of bed, changed the melted compress to a new one, and stumbled to the room next door.

“Tash, you okay?” he asked seconds before he saw her terrified eyes glistening in the dark, heard her quick, shallow breath, and knew she was far from okay. He quickly approached the bed. “It was just a nightmare, Tash.”

“How did you know?” she asked quietly and slowly, as if with effort, fixing her gaze on him. In the dry, white light coming from the hallway, he seemed even more tired than before. “That I woke up?”

“Jarvis,” he replied curtly. Her gaze suddenly turned firm, like she was mad and was just about to yell at him, so he quickly added, “It’s for security reasons. The whole tower’s under surveillance.”

For a moment she just taxed him with her eyes, but then she shook her head gently and the corner of her lips betrayed a small smirk.

“You know, it’s not nice to spy on sleeping women,” she muttered.

“Well, technically, you weren’t sleeping…” He fell silent under her meaningful look. “…Got it. You hear that, Jarvis? Out.”

With the very corner of her eye, Tasha saw the light of the small camera hidden near the ceiling turn off.

“Try to get back to sleep now, you need rest,” Stark added calmly and walked towards the door, and she was suddenly flooded with a wave of irrational panic.

“Tony, don’t leave me alone,” she blurted out. He turned around slowly, a surprised look on his face. He was still pressing an ice pack to the makeshift dressing she had put on him, and his skin glistened softly, covered in tiny beads of sweat, and only then did Natasha realize the idiocy behind what she’d said. “I mean… I’m sorry. You need rest, too.”

Tony didn’t move, nor did he say anything, as if expecting her to continue. The only move he made was a small adjustment to the grip on the slipping ice pack, and she could clearly see him wince as he did.

“Did you take something for the pain?” she asked worriedly. He shook his head in silence. “Goddammit, Tony, could you stop playing the hero for once? Iron Man or not, you’re still only human, and you can’t just—”

“I’ll stay with you,” he cut her short. “Just please shut up and go to sleep.”

He noticed a smile on her lips, just a glimpse before she lay down and buried herself in the covers. He pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Dum-E very quietly brought him a new ice pack, gently pushing it into his hands as he grabbed the melted one so carefully he pinched Tony only a little, pulling far harder at his heartstrings. Dum-E jerked back with what sounded like a distressed whirr and it was like he was worried he might have hurt Tony even more. Tony chuckled softly, but was almost certain those were tears of emotion pricking at his eyelids.

…Damn, what had this day done to him.

He changed his ice and only then realized this whole time he had been staring at Natasha, but unaware it was actually her lying there. The bed was so similar to the one he used to watch Pepper in before going to the workshop, and then there was that nightdress he still so clearly remembered from just a few weeks ago; the hair emerging from under the covers was a bit different kind of red, but his exhausted, sore brain saw it all the same. For him, Natasha wasn’t Natasha anymore—it was Pepper lying in front of him, adorably snuggling up to her own hands; the dark outside the window was soon going to change into the light of dawn, and Pepper was going to wake up like nothing ever happened and look at him, and smile, and then ask him with that sweet, sleepy voice of hers if he shouldn’t be doing something more worthwhile than staring at her like a lovesick puppy.

A lock of hair fell on Pepper’s forehead and suddenly he was in his armor again, kneeling next to her, the air thick from the heat of the recent explosion; he reached to brush it away and suddenly her eyes opened wide, but they weren’t green anymore, they were blue, and for a split second he had no idea what was happening.

“Sorry, Tash,” he whispered. “Imagination’s playing tricks on me.”

He was just about to move his hand away, but then she grabbed it and squeezed. “I don’t think I’m gonna fall asleep anyway,” she muttered. A moment passed and they only looked at each other, both trying to read the other’s mind in hopes of finding a clue as to what to do next. Tony finally pulled her gently in and she followed the gesture, disentangled herself from the covers, and a few seconds later she was on his lap, her bare legs wrapped around his hips, her lips so close to his shivers ran down his spine from the heat of her breath clashing with the bitter cold he felt in his side.

He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about what Jarvis would say or how lousy he was going to feel afterwards; he didn’t care about anything at all. The only thing that made sense right now was her warm lips and half-closed eyes gazing at him lustfully and somehow… urgently. He put his arm around her waist and entwined his fingers in her hair.

“Aaah!” she moaned in the exact voice which he’d learned to give women pleasure for in the first place and which had his loins tightening in unbearable pressure. She fell onto his shoulder, shaking, like she barely held on. “Fuck, it’s cold…”

In one swift movement he unwound himself from her waist and threw the ice pack on the floor, but a few droplets remained on her thigh, so he quickly brushed them away, feeling the strong shiver that went through her in response.

“Aren’t you awfully sensitive…” he purred in her ear; his very fingertips, barely touching her skin, traced a line down the inside of her other thigh and a smile formed on his lips when she trembled again and let out a soft sigh.

His hands moved higher to the hem of her nightdress and further on until she gasped and twitched with the unbridled desire. Their lips clashed in a kiss, passionate and hungry, like they couldn’t wait another second, and yet wanted it to last. Tony dug his fingers into her, his arm intolerably twisted, and she squealed again and again straight into his lips, so loud he could feel the sounds vibrating in his temples. And as she was closing in, already squeezing him with her thighs and parting her lips to cry out, he stopped.

“Hey,” he muttered with an insolent, yet impossibly arousing smile. “You should be saving your energy for later.”

She didn’t answer, she just clung to him as he rose to his feet holding up her hips, and carried her like that to the day room. Dum-E already did what he did best—swiped everything off the table—and Stark laid her on top of it with an air of certainty to his movements betraying how many times he’d done that in the past. Cold glass contrasted with her hot skin and another wave of shivers ran down her spine while Tony ran his hands up her body, rolling up her nightdress. He stared at her a moment, even though he’d seen it before; now was the first time he really had a chance to take in the view.

“Tony, your wound…” she started suddenly, and he looked at her surprised like he didn’t know what she meant. Then his gaze fell to the bandage marred with blood seeping through.

“Let’s not worry about that now,” he replied calmly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself…” She sat up, grabbing his neck for balance, setting her eyes on his lips. She knew this was exactly the last moment when she could still go back, say she can’t do it to Barton’s memory, but surprisingly, she didn’t care. Barton was gone. Only Stark remained.

She let out a heavy sigh.

“Tony, we’re in no rush now,” she whispered, looking into his eyes, and she very clearly saw he didn’t agree. “We can… Ah!”

He filled her up suddenly, went in not very quickly, but decidedly, and ger words were immediately lost in a series of moans and cries. He picked up his pace gradually, thrust after thrust, and she kissed him once again, firmly, before falling onto her back and clenching her fingers on the opposite edge of the table.

“Oh, fuck…” she let out, feeling her hands go numb, and when he didn’t reply, she forced herself to open her eyes. He was panting hard with effort, thin streams of sweat trickling down his forehead. He dug his fingers into her pelvis again and again, pulling her in while rhythmically striking with his hips at the same time to meet her short screams. She could clearly see it was too much for him, that he was clenching his jaw in pain, she could hear his hissing, even if barely audible, but by now she wasn’t sure anymore if she wanted him to stop. There was a small voice in the back of her head, calling for satisfaction even at the cost of Tony’s health. Besides, even if she wanted to stop him, she wouldn’t be able to make an articulate sound anyway, and Stark wasn’t the type to give up before living up to a challenge.

Thin harsh stabs of pain in his side forced a hiss out of his lips every time he threw his hips forward, and prevented him from reaching his full speed. It didn’t bother Natasha, she was perfectly happy with the marching rhythm he managed to set for now, but he needed a bit more to reach his fulfilment. Frustration showed on his face and even though her beautiful thighs didn’t hinder his movements in any way, the very position was disadvantageous. Fatigue seemed to creep up on him inch by inch, a little more with every thrust, and he knew that going like this, he wouldn’t be able to reach the peak before his muscles gave out.

“Come on,” he gasped and, kissing her neck and shoulders, led her to the couch to push her gently to the ground. She assumed the position, digging her knees into the rug and displaying herself to him in a really enticing manner, but he needed another moment of rest so the numbing pain would go away, so he let his hand freely roam around her body everywhere he could reach. She breathed hard, impatiently, and though he managed to get a quiet, muffled moan out of her when he pressed the right place in the right way, he could see she didn’t want to wait anymore. She gazed at him over her shoulder, pushing her hips out to him, like she was trying to impale herself on him, but every time she did he pulled back a little to make it harder for her.

“What’s going on, Tash?” he murmured boisterously, gently pulling her hair before sliding his hand down. “Don’t say you suddenly care. Just a moment ago…”

“Oh, fuck you and just fuck me,” she growled and he rewarded her with one smooth thrust, embedding himself all the way inside her and chuckling a bit under his breath. She let out a loud, lengthy moan which alone made his manhood twitch in hopes of more. This position granted him greater control over what he was doing; he could spread his body weight over a bigger area, and thanks to that he immediately felt a difference in pain intensity with every thrust. Yes, her ass slapped against his wound, but it soon turned into nothing but a slightly unpleasant numbness, especially since he focused all of his attention on her sweet moans and reddened cheeks.

“Oh, Tony, Tony,” she squealed, pulling her hips away in one moment and then raising them to meet up with him in the next, like she wanted to escape the sensations at the same time as yearning for them to be deeper, harder, faster. Suddenly, she let out a short breath of fear, or maybe pain—and Stark immediately stopped.

“Tash?” he gasped out, completely breathless, and she had to get ahold of her own panting before she could look at him again.

“Stop…” she whispered. “You won’t stand this pace, someth—”

“Tash, what’s going on?” he asked in a firmer voice, and she disentangled her hips from between his fingers before setting herself on the rug; as he slid out of her, he could feel the pain-like pressure of the unsatisfied need. She shook her head and obviously readied to feed him the same bullshit, but he raised his hand. “Don’t piss me off. That just now wasn’t, ‘oh shit, he’s gonna bleed out,’ it was, ‘oh shit, I just remembered something’.”

“It’s just… you sounded the alarm so early on us today morning, it was such a mess… I left the room once and I didn’t—”

“You didn’t take the pill,” he stated more than he asked. “And you surely know that even if we took this to the end, the chances would be so low that there’s—”

“I don’t wanna play with fire, Tony. Just come on and sit down, you’re barely holding up straight.”

He couldn’t disagree. He slowly climbed onto the couch promising himself he would only rest a few moments and figure something out, but before he could even take a deeper breath, Natasha rose to her knees.

“What are you up to?” he managed to ask before he felt her warm lips wrapping around his manhood, and a quiet sigh escaped his. She was so gentle, putting her caress in such contrast to how roughly he was fucking her just a moment ago, and for a short while all he wanted was for her to keep up with the slow speed and tenderness. But then she picked up the pace and it was even better, until he finally just moaned and let his head fall back, and entwined his fingers in her red hair; he didn’t pressure her, he wouldn’t dare to, he just held her like that, his fingertips digging slightly into her skull, so Natasha knew how good it was for him. She continued like that for a while, then raised her head and carefully felt around the glans with her tongue, tracing its lines and playing with the frenulum.

Then she put him in her mouth again, deep, until he passed her throat, and Tony groaned in such a way she felt a hot wave of pleasure stemming from her abdomen and spreading blissfully across her whole body. She pulled back and looked at him with a playful, proud smile rising the corners of her mouth, and his slightly parted lips glistening pale with pearls of saliva and his gaze full of lust let her know how close she was to making him go crazy.

Her hand reached down to her clit and when she let out a soft moan looking him straight in the eye, and while her other hand was still busy stroking his cock, he looked like he was going to force her to continue but held himself back by the last of his will. So Natasha picked up where she left off; she brushed her tongue against his foreskin as she squeezed him with her lips, moving her hand gently up and down the shaft.

“Please, Tash, faster,” he gasped out and she obliged, moaning into him as she pleasured herself, too, and couldn’t take much more anyway; soon, his grasp grew firmer, although he still refrained from pushing her down. Another couple of strokes and she could feel that distinctive ripple on her lower lip, and then the bitter flowing taste hitting her palate and filling her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to hold out until he was finished. Then she looked at him again and smiled gently.

“Let’s go to bed, Tony,” she murmured, getting up and taking his hand. “Now you definitely need some rest.”


End file.
